


If We Try, We'll Get By

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_remix, Feeding, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Remix, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Sunday morning and the cold light of Monday’s dawn, Harry realized that there was a world of difference between making a resolution and keeping it. <i>A future!fic remix of "Everything Will Be Okay".</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Try, We'll Get By

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for hd_remix on Livejournal. Many thanks to Marianna_Merlo for offering her work to be remixed!
> 
> When I read the title “Everything Will Be Okay,” I immediately thought of the song “Everything’s All Right” from Jesus Christ Superstar. The title of this remix comes from the lyrics of that song. I chose this fic to remix because I love the concept of an easy route to a relationship versus the complicated one, and the idea that fresh starts can be cathartic. It felt like it wanted to keep going, so I’m offering a future!fic as my remix, where in my mind the story might lead after Hermione’s advice. I’d like to thank my darling M for being such a wonderful beta.
> 
> As always, I don't own the world or characters of Harry Potter; I just like to play with them.

There was a world of difference between making a resolution and keeping it.

It had seemed so simple on Sunday morning, as he brought Hermione her tea and toast, then took up the paper again. Life was too short to have regrets. If he wanted a chance at the complicated life that made his stomach twist in anticipation, all he had to do was reach out and grab it. All he had to do was follow Hermione’s advice and _go get him_.

In the cold light of Monday morning, all of the details of exactly _how_ complicated it was had flooded back when Ginny sat on the edge of his desk with a cup of coffee held out in offering. 

She smiled and flipped her hair back from her face, her cheeks red from the cold outside. “I can’t stay too long; we’re heading back out to Holyhead today, and I’ll be in the air for practice an hour from now. But I thought I could make time for coffee.”

It wasn’t the right time, and it wasn’t the right place. Harry knew that, but he also knew that if he let Ginny go now without an explanation, he would still be dating her in six months or a year. It was _easy_ to date Ginny. She had always wanted him, and he had always wanted to be wanted. It was a perfect match, wasn’t it?

But sometimes it seemed too easy, like something was missing. Then he’d look across the cafeteria and spot a familiar blond head and remember the excitement and tension that came from the way they’d sparred with words all those years, and he knew what was wrong.

Being with Ginny was _simple_. And while he could just let her go to Holyhead with her team, could just go on being Harry  & Ginny and not have to worry about all the complications that came with breaking it off… it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Not anymore, not after his conversation Sunday morning. Not with Hermione’s words still sitting there in the back of his mind, reminding him that sometimes you had to take a chance.

He set down the cup of coffee on his desk and stood up, offering Ginny a hand. “Come walk with me.”

She slipped her hand into his trustingly, and he led her to a conference room. Two minutes later she stormed out of it, the door slamming behind her as she yelled, “I never want to speak to you again, Harry Potter!”

“What the bloody hell did you do to my sister, mate?” Ron asked, anger and confusion warring in his expression.

Harry took a deep breath, feeling the ease of it in his lungs. He was smiling when he let it out. “I did the right thing,” he told Ron. “I broke it off. Set her free. Now I think I’m going to go spend the day with my best mate.”

Ron blinked. “I wasn’t planning on taking the day off.”

“My other best mate.” Harry stopped in long enough to tell Kingsley where he was off to, then collected Hermione from her desk in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures.

As they left the Ministry, he thought he felt someone watching him, but when he turned to look, he saw no one. It was probably his imagination, but he hoped it was a particular person who had noted the uproar, and noted his new status. It was a first step, after all, towards making things _complicated_.

#

“Rumour has it that you broke things off with the Weaslette in order to shag the Weasel’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Malfoy.” Harry glanced over at the blond who had just settled in to the chair opposite his at the cafeteria table. “I had no idea you were so interested in my love life.”

“Gossip is as good as galleons in the Ministry,” Malfoy said. “And I intend to have the best tidbits in my bank. Now tell me, is this the truth?”

“I broke it off with Ginny, but I’m not shagging Hermione.” In the two weeks since Ginny’s very public exit from the Ministry, Harry hadn’t heard a word from his ex-girlfriend. But he had heard all of the rumours that circulated around the Ministry. One had him shagging Hermione that very day, since they had left together. Some claimed that Hermione had broken it off with Ron, not vice versa, which left Hermione laughing now that she was over the git (her words, not Harry’s, although he wondered if his mates would ever get along again). One particularly creative rumour had spread about that Ron was having an affair with Harry, to which Ron had protested, long and loud, that he had absolutely no interest in blokes and he was getting plenty at home from Lizzy thank you very much. Which was more detail than Harry had really needed to know.

“Your silence helps me not at all,” Malfoy pointed out. “Give me one thing I can use. I know you’re not having it off with Kingsley in his office.”

“Someone thought that?” Harry’s eyebrows both went up in shock; he hadn’t heard that one.

Malfoy smiled sharply. “Someone spread it about; whether they believed it or not is something else entirely. I’m also quite aware that you are neither taking it up the arse from the Weasel, nor giving it to him. Emma Dobbs tried to convince me that she’s slept at your flat three times this week, but that is entirely untrue.”

“Why do you care who I’m shagging?” Harry took a sip of his coffee, watching Malfoy’s expression closely. It was typical Malfoy: closed off and shuttered, as if a mask slipped over his features to hide his emotions, letting only a thin version slip through.

“I don’t.” Malfoy’s words were clipped. “But I do care about knowing more than others in this office do. In a position such as mine, knowledge is power. So tell me, Potter, why did you break it off with the Weaslette?”

Harry took another long sip of his coffee, letting the silence drag out. Malfoy shifted in his seat, discomfort growing, and that only made Harry smile. “It wasn’t fair to string her along,” he finally said. “I love her, yes, but not like that. It was easy to be with her, because she had all these expectations, and I didn’t have to work for it. But it was also boring as hell.”

“So you’re saying you’re shite in bed,” Malfoy said dryly.

Harry shot him a look. “Not at all. She wasn’t bad in bed either. But our _life_ together was dull. I wanted something with more fire. More tension. More fight.”

“And have you found that?”

Harry tilted his coffee cup, smiling to himself. “Perhaps. We’ll just have to see how it all works out. Now tell me, what do I get in exchange for giving you information?”

“What makes you think you get anything for this?” Malfoy raised one eyebrow. “I’m the top of the food chain, Potter, and you’re the bottom. You should be used to this by now.”

Harry set down the cup and leaned forward. “But I still haven’t told you who it is.”

Malfoy went silent, interest flickering in those grey eyes as they narrowed. “No,” he said curtly. “You haven’t.”

“And you want to know.” Harry waved his wand, sending his empty cup flying to the bin. It bounced off the wall and in. “So. If you expect me to give you a piece of information that is as good as galleons are gold, then I want something from it. Give me something, Malfoy. It doesn’t have to be much. Perhaps… feed me. You love pointing out how far down the social echelon I am. Show me how the other half lives. Take me someplace expensive.”

“A dinner in exchange for the name of the woman you are pursuing,” Malfoy clarified.

“A dinner in exchange for a name, yes.” Harry was careful not to outright lie and _say_ it was a woman, but he wouldn’t say it was a man, either. Not yet. “Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll come collect you at your hovel at seven sharp,” Malfoy told him. He pushed to his feet, rising at the same time as Harry.

“You’ll need the address.” Harry wrote it quickly, giving Malfoy a paper that was for his eyes only, giving him the secret of his home at Grimmauld Place. “I’ll see you then.”

It wasn’t how Harry had meant to make the first move, but it would work as an opener for the game.

#

 _Everything’s going to be okay_.

Harry kept hearing those words in his mind, hearing Hermione telling him to _go get him_. Well, here _he_ was, standing at the door to Grimmauld Place, one pale eyebrow raised as he looked in through the doorway.

“Tell me, Potter, do you intend to leave me standing on your stoop all night? It is generally considered polite to invite one’s guest in, particularly when that guest is taking one out to dine.” The other eyebrow slid up to join the first as Malfoy’s head tilted, pointed chin in the air.

It was an attractive chin. More attractive than Harry had once thought, but perhaps that’s because a few years had filled it out somewhat. Instead of sharp it was more chiseled. Perfect, really.

He summoned his cloak and shrugged into it as he stepped out of the door. “Actually, no. The house isn’t entirely hospitable at times, so I thought we’d go out directly.”

“You have the social skills of a baboon,” Malfoy said dryly. “It’s no wonder your Weaslette walked out.”

Harry wrestled with the clasp of his cloak, getting that settled before he looked at Malfoy. “She stormed out because I broke it off with her. Ron’s not talking to me either, I’ll give you that for free since if people think we’re shagging they obviously haven’t noticed it yet.”

“And who _are_ you shagging?” Malfoy smirked.

“No one.” Harry stepped down onto the street, smiling at the surprised look his neighbor gave him. “I’m still pursuing, but I assure you that if shagging happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

One eyebrow cocked again. “Before Granger?”

It took all Harry had not to laugh at Malfoy’s dubious expression. “Before Hermione,” he agreed. After all, if shagging happened, it would be Malfoy himself being pounded into the mattress.

It was an attractive thought, and Harry felt his ears flush at the idea of it. But it also wasn’t _all_ he wanted, and in fact, he didn’t want to screw this up by taking the easy route. And uncomplicated sex would definitely be the easy route.

He offered his arm to Malfoy. “You chose the place, so you lead the way.”

Malfoy stared at Harry, but Harry was willing to wait and soon enough Malfoy pursed his lips and slid his hand through Harry’s arm. “If you would not mind, I shall take you side-along,” he said quietly.

Harry only stepped closer, letting his other hand fall to Malfoy’s waist, making it easy for the man to hold him and twist them in place. He smiled as he felt the familiar tug to carry them away together. So far so good.

#

When they arrived at the restaurant, Harry managed to claim a quiet word with the hostess before they were seated. She gave them a table at the back, a small curved booth with only one bench, meant for intimate encounters. When Malfoy scowled his displeasure, she assured him that all other tables were claimed by reservations.

“It’s fine,” Harry said, tone firm. He gestured for Malfoy to slide in, and after a moment, the pale blond did so. Harry slid in next to him, liking the way the booth let them be close without being too close. His toes touched Malfoy’s beneath the table, and he saw the stubborn set of a jaw that was determined not to let Harry chase him away.

They were silent as they perused the menu and ordered, silent until the appetizers arrived. Harry considered the plate of stuffed mushrooms, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile.

“Feed me,” he suggested.

“Are you daft, Potter?” One eyebrow arched high as Malfoy glared. “What makes you think I’d—”

“You want to know who I am pursuing,” Harry said, tone light. “And I do believe you would do anything for this information. As good as galleons are gold, you said, yes? Therefore,” he pinned Malfoy with his gaze. “Feed me.”

Malfoy’s lips pursed. “Malfoys do not serve,” he said, even as his fingers closed delicately around one mushroom and lifted it to Harry’s lips.

“Of course,” Harry murmured in reply. He parted his lips, eyes locked on Malfoy’s as his tongue darted out to touch the mushroom. He helped gather it in, tongue teasing Malfoy’s fingertips, making sure to lick the bits of melted butter that clung to his skin. He tasted earth and salt, felt the way Malfoy’s fingers jerked then held resolutely, stubbornly still.

Harry took his time, lips closing momentarily over the tip of Malfoy’s finger before he released him and licked his lips, chewing the mushroom. Malfoy’s cheeks were flushed, his gaze silvered as he glanced away. “Another one,” Harry said, fighting to keep the hoarse note out of his voice.

Malfoy was about to lift one to his own lips when Harry spoke, and he turned, gaze narrowing. “And if I am hungry?”

“It’s not your turn yet.” Harry crooked his finger. “One more for me, then you can have one.”

Malfoy hesitated, the mushroom dripping butter down his finger in a trail that led to his palm. Harry swallowed, wanting to follow that path, wanting to lave that skin with his tongue. Instead, he parted his lips and waited, patiently. Expectantly. As if his orders were for Malfoy to obey.

As soon as the mushroom touched his lower lip, Harry let his tongue slip out to touch Malfoy’s skin. Teeth closed, capturing that finger. He gave in to temptation and swallowed as he stroked the juice from Malfoy’s finger with his tongue. Malfoy jerked back, eyes wide and silver, staring at Harry.

Harry smiled. “Put your hands on the table.”

“Why?”

Harry just nodded at the table. “Because you want a name at the end of dinner. So put your hands on the table.”

He waited until Malfoy did, then picked up a mushroom, holding it carefully between thumb and forefinger. He watched the way Malfoy’s eyes tracked the motion of the appetizer when Harry lifted it, watched those eyes cross trying to still see it as Harry held it before Malfoy’s mouth.

“Open up.” When Malfoy hesitated, Harry grinned. “You wanted a mushroom, didn’t you?”

Malfoy’s hands clenched, twisting tightly against the surface of the table, but his lips parted, tongue reaching out to taste the bite. Harry nudged it closer, fingers slipping inside of Malfoy’s mouth; his breath caught when Malfoy’s tongue swept over his finger. Harry didn’t pull away, giving Malfoy a chance to explore before he withdrew, fingertip sliding over Malfoy’s bottom lip.

“Good, aren’t they?” Harry asked.

Malfoy just stared at him, hands fisted and pressed tight against the table.

“Want another?” Harry picked one up, holding it out in offering.

When Malfoy nodded, Harry felt something twist in his gut. He would take that as a sign, take it as encouragement.

He slowly fed Malfoy the remainder of the mushrooms, one by one.

#

They finally spoke over dinner, talk of Quidditch teams to break the ice leading into curiosity about office politics and gossip. Draco was a font of obscure knowledge, and he seemed to enjoy shocking Harry with each morsel that he let slip.

At the end they relaxed over wine, the meal already paid for but the seats too warm to leave. They were on their last glasses to finish a bottle of red. Draco held it dangling loosely from his fingertips, staring into the liquid as it shimmered from the candlelight.

“You have yet to give me a name,” he pointed out, shifting the topic abruptly as he interrupted Harry’s musing thoughts on Puddlemere’s injured lead Chaser.

“The meal isn’t over,” Harry countered.

Draco drained the glass in one long gulp and set it down, nudging it out of the way. He turned towards Harry, his arm leaning on the back of the bench, head tilted slightly. Harry’s gaze dropped to the smooth column of skin exposed by this angle, the soft length of Draco’s throat. 

Draco made a soft noise, and Harry yanked his gaze back to meet his eyes. “And if I were to guess who the object of your interest is?” Draco asked. “Would my debt be abated?”

“You’ve fed me,” Harry said. “Technically speaking, your debt is paid, and you are waiting for the goods to be delivered.”

“So to speak.”

Harry leaned against the bench as well, his head level with Draco’s, and just watched him for a long moment. The wine had relaxed Harry, leaving him warm as he kept remembering the touch of Draco’s fingers, and the feel of his foot pressed against Harry’s ankle beneath the table.

The time had come.

 _Go get him_.

He couldn’t stop to think, couldn’t pause. Harry reached out, one finger lightly tracing down that smooth throat as he leaned in. Eyes closed as mouth met mouth, tasting steak and wine, and just a hint of the mushrooms from earlier.

No response turned to a softly shuddered gasp, and Draco’s lips parted. Harry chased his tongue, teasing his mouth, wanting another gasp, and a moan to match his own. His hand slid down Draco’s chest, feeling the solid _thump_ of a rising heartbeat beneath his palm.

This, yes, _this_. This was what Harry wanted. This was what he needed to make his life right.

He drew back slowly, keeping his gaze locked on Draco, watching for some sign of a reaction.

“I take it that is your response?” Draco said, voice hoarse and rough.

Harry nodded once.

One eyebrow rose. “I get the impression you like to be in charge, Potter,” Draco drawled. “So do it. Take charge.”

A quick grin flashed at the permission given, an assent that Harry tucked away for future reference. _Take charge_ , Draco had said, and Harry willingly did, stealing kiss after kiss until both were breathless and hungry for more. Harry didn’t ask after a time, simply caught both Draco’s hands in his, pinning him as he teased him, and keeping him held securely as he finally twisted them in space, apparating them both back to Grimmauld Place.

As they came together, Harry was certain that Hermione was right: everything would be okay.


End file.
